


Tokens of Love (Bagginshield Summer of Fluff)

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bagginshield Summer of Fluff, Cultural Differences, Fluff, M/M, Summer Festival, Thilbo, Thorin doesn't know how to handle praise, Thorin in the Shire, an unexpected proposal, bagginshield, everbody lives AU, post-botfa au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7805374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Bagginshield Summer of Fluff on tumblr - my keyword was "summer festival".</p><p>It is the first day of Lithe, and Bilbo and Thorin join the celebrations in Hobbiton. Being a stranger and a dwarf, Thorin is used to be stared at. But something seems to be different tonight. But Bilbo promised him that the flowers tucked to his shirt would made him blend right in, hadn't he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tokens of Love (Bagginshield Summer of Fluff)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rutobuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/gifts).



> For rutobuka, because your beautiful art about "some future husbands beating around the bush with their not-so-secretive gift" inspired me to write this! Have a look (http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com/post/147049791154/some-future-husbands-beating-around-the-bush-with), it's beautiful!  
> Besides, I blame you for my descent into Bagginshield Happiness - I would probably have landed there sooner or later, but your comic "Tamâmebrulu" almost killed me with all it's beautiful fluff ... And now I'm here, and here is what you get ^_^
> 
> If you enjoy this story, my dear readers, please consider leaving a comment. I'm always curious to hear your opinion ^^

_They stare at me_ , Thorin observed.

He had thought he had gotten used to being stared at. The hobbits did so ever since he had come with Bilbo to the Shire, and it only deemed him comprehensible. After all, he was a stranger, a dwarf who had returned with Mister Baggins from his adventure and now stayed with him at Bag-End. Every single event would have caused tongues to wag for several weeks, but all of them together was enough for whole song cycles and gossip for the next generation of hobbits. In fact, Thorin _had_ gotten used to the stares and whispers.

But something was different today. He just wasn’t sure what was different exactly. He didn’t consider himself especially dwarvish in plain pants and a simple blue tunic with silver embroidery. He didn’t consider himself especially festive either, not in comparison with Bilbo in his fancy clothes in different shades of green and gold and yellow. Bilbo had pinned some bright flowers to Thorin’s shirt with the promise that they would make him blend right in. The bright yellow and red and pink was appropriate for the celebration of midsummer-eve – or the first day of Lithe, how Bilbo called it. He had affirmed several times that the flowers were appropriate for Thorin to wear at the festival, and he had tucked flowers in the same colour behind his ears as if to prove a point.

Therefore it couldn’t be his clothes that made him stand out. Thorin decided that it must be the lack of boots. For the first time since his arrival in the Shire last autumn, Thorin didn’t wear his heavy boots. It felt a bit strange at first, but tonight there was the festival, with food and drinks and songs and dancing. The last point was why he went barefoot – maybe he and Bilbo would dance, and he didn’t want to tread on the hobbit’s feet with his heavy boots. And that would happen very probably. He hadn’t danced _for ages_.

It was only early evening when they went with linked arms to the party tree on the meadow. Half of the Shire seemed to be already present and was busying themselves at the many stalls with foods and drinks. There was some free space in the centre of the meadow, and some couples were already dancing. Merry laughter greeted them as they approached the other hobbits, and that was also the moment when Thorin realized the first stares. He could almost feel them.

The prying eyes rested on him as Bilbo left him for a moment to get them some cold punch. Thorin tried not to shift uncomfortably. Mahal help him, what was different today? Maybe he should have chosen some more festive clothes after all, despite Bilbo’s affirmation that he looked stunningly … He was rather glad when his hobbit returned with two cups and he didn’t feel that exposed anymore. He took a big draught only to find that the punch wasn’t only fruity and refreshing, but surprisingly strong as well. _It’s a feast day after all_ , he thought.

The glances also followed Thorin as he went to catch some food for them. He tried to ignore them and concentrated on his task. It turned out to be more difficult than he had imagined because there was such an ample choice. He had known that hobbits enjoyed food – there was no way Thorin could have missed this fact – but they had surpassed themselves on this occasion. He almost expected to hear the tables creak under the weight of all the crispy meat pies, the bowls with potatoes in all variations, and the delicately looking cakes. He decided for some strawberry cupcakes to begin with – he knew that Bilbo loved strawberries, and his face lightened up indeed as Thorin returned to him.

The other hobbits also watched them as he danced with Bilbo – although he had to admit that he wasn’t quite sure about that. He was too busy to watch his own feet at first. Hobbit dances were not like any dances he knew. They weren’t slow and solemn like dwarvish ones, but quick and joyful, the melodies catchy and merry. It turned out that Bilbo was really quick-footed, and it didn’t cost him much effort to carry Thorin away: He simply took his hands and helped him through the first tacts until Thorin found that he wasn’t staring at his feet anymore, but at Bilbo. He looked beautiful: The light of the colourful lampions was reflected in his eyes, his cheeks were rosy from the dancing, and the flowers that were tucked behind his ear matched perfectly with his golden curls.

“You look breath-taking tonight”, he told him and smiled at Bilbo’s reaction: He turned red, mumbled something about a thank-you, and retreated with a stammered remark about heating up during dancing and getting them another cup of fruit punch. Thorin’s eyes followed him as he mingled with the crowd. Bilbo had been right when he had told him that the flowers would make him blend right in: There were many hobbits who had flowers in their hair or tucked to their clothes or around their necks like garlands. It was a true sea of blossoms in all colours.

Thorin didn’t know much about flowers, although Bilbo tried to gradually change that by throwing a bunch of names on him during their strolls around the village whenever they passed a garden or walked across a meadow. And the dwarf made efforts, despite Bilbo’s teasing that he would never have green fingers.

But even Thorin, who had spent most of his lifetime in mountains, recognized that the flowers that were tucked behind Bilbo’s ears and to his shirt made them stand out.

Yes, many hobbits were adorned with flowers. But there were only few of them who were adorned with a bouquet of yellow, red, and pink flowers. Thorin looked around, and he figured out that it were mostly couples who wore the same flowers as he and Bilbo did.

He looked down at the bouquet at his shirt, and his lips curled into a smile. Did his hobbit try to tell him something through these flowers? Or did he try to denote them as belonging together? Both thoughts had something very endearing … but Thorin wouldn’t pretend that he hadn’t noticed.

So when Bilbo returned, he took a sip of the cold punch before casually asking: “Can you tell me something, givashel?” Bilbo nodded, and he continued: “You once told me something about flower language …”

He didn’t have to speak on: Bilbo knew just too well what he was up to. His face reddened right to the tip of his ears, and he stared into his cup. “You noticed?”, he asked quietly.

“I noticed”, Thorin said in a soft voice. “Only lovers wear matching flowers, right?” He received a short, but affirmative nod. Thorin’s hand grazed over the flowers tucked to his shirt, and he chuckled. “It’s a lovely idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bilbo twisted the cup between his fingers. “Well”, he lengthened the word, “I didn’t want to seem possessive, but I couldn’t let things go on like this. I just couldn’t stand the way the others look at you anymore.”

Thorin blinked. “What does that have to do with the flowers? The other hobbits will always stare at me, Bilbo. I’m a dwarf, after all. They are suspicious or, if I’m lucky, curious.”

“Curiosity and suspicions may have been the reasons why they started to stare at you. But they’re not the only reasons. Not anymore. I know very well.” Finally, Bilbo looked up at him. He pouted, but as he saw that Thorin had no clue what he was talking about, astonishment spread over his face. “You really don’t know it, do you?”

Thorin could only shake his head. He had no idea _at all_ what Bilbo was talking about.

The hobbit’s expression softened. “Thorin, you are beautiful. Even hobbits can’t deny that. You’re tall, you’ve got broad shoulders, and strong arms – ”

“Non-nonsense!”, Thorin interrupted him, feeling his face heating up. “You describe a warrior, and a warrior can hardly be attractive to a hobbit – ”

“I haven’t finished yet”, Bilbo continued calmly. “You’re attractive at first sight, and you’re beautiful at a closer look. Your regal features, your deep eyes with the colour of the night sky, the little crinkles around them when you smile, those tempting lips …” Bilbo’s honey eyes lingered on Thorin’s face as he told him what he considered beautiful about him almost reverently, and his voice became soft. It sounded as if he was speaking to himself, lost in thoughts.

Thorin’s heart beat faster at Bilbo’s words. It had never occurred to him that he could be considered beautiful. Attractive, maybe. But beautiful? And to such an extent? He had received praise as a leader, a warrior, and a king. But being called beautiful was not considered appropriate for any of these roles. Bilbo had been the first to call him beautiful, and Thorin had blushed because of it. And to hear his hobbit now to talk in such detail of what he considered beautiful about him …

“… and the little frown between your eyebrows when you ponder about something, just like you do now …”

He interrupted Bilbo by kissing his cheek ever so lightly. The hobbit blinked at him as if he had just woken from a pleasant dream. He cleared his throat and looked up at Thorin through his lashes. “You are beautiful, Thorin”, he said, “and I’m not the only one who sees this. I – I just wanted them to stop staring at you.”

Thorin kissed him once more on the cheek. “I love you. I would never leave you for anyone else, givashel.”

“I know!”, Bilbo exclaimed. “And that’s why I didn’t tell you about the meaning of the flowers. I felt so foolish! I know that you love me, but I – I felt like I had to set a sign. There have been rumours since you came to the Shire with me, and everyone wonders of what kind our relationship actually is. I know I shouldn’t bother, but it’s painful to think that they might consider us a mere flirt, or that you could leave me because of some inviting eyes or a whispered promise …”

He had begun to twist the cup between his fingers again. Thorin took it from him gently and placed it on a nearby table without really looking where he put it. “I’m sorry, givashel. I didn’t realized that their glances could have another meaning, and I didn’t know that you suffered because of them.” He was sorry indeed – it was his fault that the inhabitants of Hobbiton didn’t know how dearly he loved Bilbo.

After their return to the Shire, they had stayed mostly at Bag-End and had kept to themselves. Thorin remembered the lazy mornings in their bed as well as the cosy nights in front of the hearth fire with great fondness. They had enjoyed simply being together, and they had not cared much about the gossip their arrival had caused. They had only needed each other.

It was only after a while, when spring arrived, that they had started to walk around Hobbiton together and to visit friends and relatives of Bilbo’s.

The hobbits had probably misinterpreted their relationship back then – Thorin had been rather shy with displaying his affection for Bilbo. Sure, they had been holding hands, and they had exchanged little kisses and touches. But he had been unsure if or to which extend hobbits showed their affection in public, and something like a kiss on the forehead or the cheek was rather daring to dwarven standards.

But maybe …

“Oh no, Thorin!”, Bilbo huffed. “I know that look in your eyes! Whatever you are up to – no!”

“You haven’t even listened to me”, he replied, no longer able to hold back a grin. “I know a perfect way to stop their stares. We just have to put on a show for them, don’t you agree?”

“A show? Thorin, I don’t know what you mean by a show, but –”

He was silenced as Thorin closed his lips with a kiss, and it didn’t take Bilbo long to understand what he had meant. For Thorin was determined to display his affection for Bilbo distinctly. Nobody who would see this would mistake their relationship for a mere flirt.

He had hesitated at first, though. Dwarves weren’t used to show their devotion openly like that; they tended to do so mostly by simple touches. He had wondered if he would dare to kiss Bilbo fiercely in front of so many observers. However, as soon as his lips met Bilbo’s, everything else disappeared – the other hobbits, their chattering, the festival meadow itself.

He cupped Bilbo’s face between his hands, giving it a gentle squeeze as a wordless plea to let him enter deeper. Bilbo didn’t deny him his desire and parted his lips willingly while grabbing the collar of Thorin’s shirt and pulling him closer. A moan – whether it came from him or Bilbo, he could not tell – passed between them. Thorin moved his hands upwards to caress Bilbo’s ears – he loved how they twitched and how Bilbo’s body tensed under this endearment. The hobbit in turn dug his fingers into his hair, and now Thorin was sure that the moan emerged from his throat. It was as if they both tried to push the other to his limits. Thorin felt a bit playful at that thought. He wouldn’t be the first to give in!

And he wasn’t: As he started to nibble gently at Bilbo’s lips, the hobbit had to break away and catch his breath again.

“Now I understand what you mean by ‘show’”, he finally panted.

Thorin put a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I don’t like the word, though. It sounds too much like pretence.” He wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist. “What do you say, givashel? Should we leave and find a place under the stars where people won’t stare at us?” He kissed Bilbo on the soft spot behind his ear, thus educing a thrilling mixture of a little moan and a laugh. “We should probably go far enough so that they won’t hear us as well …”

Bilbo chuckled. “You are very sure of yourself tonight, Thorin.”

“Maybe”, he answered calmly. “Let’s find a quiet place, okay? I’d like to tell you something.”

He thought of the little velvet bag in the inside pocket of his shirt. He kept it close ever since they had left Erebor to live in the Shire together. It contained two circlets, a smaller, almost fragile one, and an exact copy, but bigger. Both were wrought of mithril – he had turned Erebor upside down to find a supply he could work with. He had spent days and nights in his forge, but the result was beautiful: Two delicate lines, one in a geometric pattern, one in a more fluid, natural form, intertwining and being connected by another line of mithril, with settings of amber and sapphire on the points of contact.

He had to restrain himself not to feel for the pouch as he they walked away from the festival meadow, their arms linked. Bilbo hummed to himself, but made no try to start a conversation. Thorin was left alone with his thoughts, wondering if he would find enough courage to show the rings to Bilbo. He would, he promised to himself.

They found a quiet place on top of a hill, right under the branches of a tree, and sat down in the grass, Bilbo resting his head at Thorin’s shoulder. He could still see the colourful lampions in the distance, but he barely heard a sound from the celebrating hobbits. It was indeed far away, and they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Thorin harrumphed. “What I wanted to tell you –”

“Oh, never mind. I know you dwarves and your secrets. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“But I want to tell you!” That came out louder than he had intended, so Thorin showed a smile to comfort Bilbo.

His hobbit lifted his head nonetheless and looked at him, a worried expression on his face. He moved to sit in front of Thorin. “You sound so serious. Is everything alright, sweetheart?”

_Not yet._

“I’d like to give you something. It is … well, its meaning is similar to your flowers. I would be happy if – if you like it, and …” His voice trailed off, and he decided to show his gift to Bilbo instead of babbling on. It would probably be wise. So he took the smaller ring from the pouch and put it on his palm, holding his hand out to Bilbo.

His honey eyes widened, and he leaned forward to have a closer look. He stayed silent though, and Thorin’s heart hammered against his chest as he waited for a reaction. The moments lengthened as Bilbo’s gaze shifted from the ring to Thorin’s face and back to the ring once more before finally settling on Thorin.

Bilbo smiled. “It is beautiful. Is this really for me?”

“Yes, I made it for you. If you like it – ”

“Of course I like it! It’s gorgeous! Is there a matching one for you?” Thorin nodded, and Bilbo’s smile widened. He looked at the ring once more. “So, when dwarves see that we wear the same rings, they will know that we are an item, right?”

That was the most difficult part, and Thorin tried his best to phrase an answer that wouldn’t be a total stutter. “Actually not. The rings symbolise … more.” He had to clear his throat. “Ahem. Amongst dwarves, only … only spouses were matching rings.”

He could clearly see how Bilbo’s face froze as his eyes were set on the ring on Thorin’s palm, and his heart missed a beat. It took endlessly long moments before Bilbo spoke.

“You are proposing to me.” Bilbo’s voice was strangely flat, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. He blinked. Then he said with a half-choked laugh: “You are proposing to me!”

“I’m afraid I’m not”, Thorin answered quietly. Suddenly he felt very calm. He had said what he had longed for, and there was nothing more he could do but hope. “There is nothing like an engagement period amongst us dwarves. You know how stubborn we are … If we have decided that we want to spend our life with someone, we don’t need more time to think about it, or to arrange big ceremonies. We just start living with our beloved. Accepting a ring means the beginning of marriage. It is as simple as that.” He showed a crooked smile. “It’s a bit different with kings, but as I’m only a former king …” He didn’t continue, he just didn’t know how he could continue. So he waited.

Slowly, Bilbo’s eyes drifted from the ring on Thorin’s palm to his eyes. He smiled softly at Thorin, but said nothing. It took the dwarf quite a while to figure out why – Bilbo offered him his hand, fingers spread and waiting for him to act.

Thorin’s hand trembled as he slid the fragile mithril circlet on Bilbo’s ring finger, but it fit perfectly nonetheless. He didn’t take his eyes off Bilbo’s face while doing so, and he could feel his heart melting at the fond expression in Bilbo’s eyes. They were so beautiful, even when he was teary-eyed like now.

“There is one for you as well, you said?”, his hobbit asked quietly, his voice a bit shaky. “May I put it on your finger?”

“Of course”, Thorin croaked. His throat suddenly felt constricted. He gave the bigger ring to Bilbo and watched in awe as he put it on his finger.

His hobbit, _his husband_ , beamed at him. It only lasted a few moments, hardly enough time for Thorin to realize that Bilbo had accepted his offer. He cupped Thorin’s face – he could feel the metal of the ring on his cheek; it had already warmed on Bilbo’s skin – and pulled him into a gentle kiss. This only lasted a few moments as well – Bilbo’s mouth curled into a broad smile, and he had to break away as a deep, heartfelt laugh came over his lips. He wrapped his hands around Thorin’s neck.

“Oh Thorin”, he said, his voice shaky with happiness. “Is that why you looked so worried? Did you think I would turn you down? I would never – I love you, sweetheart.” He kissed Thorin on his temple. “My husband … I can hardly believe it, I’m feeling all giddy …” His lips continued to graze over Thorin’s face softly. But suddenly, they came to a halt, and Bilbo moved back to look into his face.

“If we’re, according to dwarven custom, married now, does that mean – I mean, do dwarves also know – ” He broke off, took a deep breath and simply asked: “Does this make tonight our wedding night, my love?”

Thorin smiled as he drew Bilbo closer. “It does, givashel.”

 

***

 

Whenever one of them would look back at this summer festival, both of them would call it the happiest one they had ever been to.

And there hadn’t even been any fireworks.


End file.
